The Name We Suffer
by AutumnsFey
Summary: For some, a name is just a name. For others, it can define everything. For Stiles Stilinski, it was the re-invention of who he was supposed to be.


'_**Stiles'**_

Most people think that he took on that particular nickname as his own name because of the absurdity and impossible pronunciation of his real name; they theorize that his real name is so ridiculous and humiliating that he always got angry and embarrassed whenever other's mangled it, until he actually had gotten so fed up with it that he choose to just use a shortened version of his surname.

Really?

Are they really for fucking real?

Did they think him so damn shallow?

Were even those who watched it happen too obtuse to tactually remember …?

The hurt was stronger than the anger. Because who the fuck did those people think they were? They weren't just ridiculous, those damn theories, they were freaking disappointing in their careless cruelty - and they honestly couldn't be further from the truth.

Neither the name 'Stiles' nor the 'persona' that name went along with were actually created because of a burst of childish shame or a temper tantrum. He had never once entertained giving up his real name, but – it had been necessary. Three months after his beloved and deeply missed mother had died, it became a necessity.

He had always loved his name, the name she gave him, the name she took months deliberating over silently before deciding that this one name, this and no other, would be her son's name; a family tradition she wanted to honour, a bit of home so far away from it. He loved it so much, how his mom would always insist that he was her little mischief. Her little wonder. The miracle that was the most precious to her heart.

It made him feel special.

It was something very special between the two of them.

But after her death, after all he had left from his mother – the one person who was the sun, the moon and the stars of his little universe - were the silent memories, the blood in his veins, all the little quirks and mannerism he had so enthusiastically adopted as his own, after all he had to remember her by paled in comparison to her real smile, after all that ... life seemed to phenomenally crumble down in a most spectacular and unstoppable downward-spiral of devastation.

His father, the only parent he had left, preferred to drown himself in the comforting lies sung by his old buddy Jack Daniels, leaving his only son, still a child, to his own devices. Mieczyslaw, who clung desperately to his father, to the only light his little bit of universe still had left, was alone in his grief, alone at night, plagued by nightmares that always ended up in terror-induced tears. He was just so painfully alone.

All that was left was a father who successfully ignored his son's dimming existence.

It took three months until the cracks in their lives became irreparable. Until with each step, their world threatened to crumble down beneath their feet.

And it only took one night for those cracks to make the foundation of their family collapse completely.

It only took one single night, one night for Mieczyslaw to learn how to despise himself. Because being told (screamed at) by your black-out drunken father exactly why the man preferred to act as if his only child didn't exist, could do that.

Did that.

He remembered … more correctly, he couldn't forget. Couldn't forget cowering frightened in a corner of the kitchen, with his little tear-streaked face hidden behind his skinny trembling arms, sobbing desperately, while his father, while Deputy Sheriff Noah Stilinski, proceeded to bellow loud and clear for the whole world to hear exactly how much he hated the brat he was now saddled with. How he despised that the pathetic mistake was still around, looking and behaving like his beloved wife, while the one woman that captured his heart all those years ago, the most perfect being in this world, had been cruelly ripped from him – how could the failure he was forced to call his son dare to taint his wonderful wife's memory, how dare that boy live while she had been stolen from a world that had nothing worthwhile in it without her? He made it perfectly clear that it was a shame that the boy didn't take her place, and that Mieczyslaw neither deserved to nor had the right to be in anyway like Noah's beloved wife, that the brat tarnished every memory, every breath Claudia Stilinski had ever taken by merely existing.

Noah left no room for doubt in his son's heart that it was Mieczyslaw's birth that marked the beginning of Claudia's end in his mind, that her son's presence had driven his mother into insanity and later on death.

He had been the monster that plagued his mother as her frontotemporal dementia had taken her from this world. And that said everything.

There were no doubts.

No denials.

Only cold hard truth.

All that the father who once loved his son left behind him once the man succumbed to his drunken stupor were the shattered pieces of a broken child grieving fiercely and hopelessly not only for a mother ripped unfairly from him, but also for a father who would rather see him dead than love him ever again. All he could do, all he was able to do, was to try and make it easier on his father, no matter how many times he was beaten down and left to slowly fade away on the inside.

At least until his father was well enough to look after himself again. There was no doubt in Mieczyslaw's mind that once that time came … it would be better for his father if Mieczyslaw disappeared. For good.

It was a thought that would never leave the child alone.

A thought that would become louder, the older he got.

And though neither knew it at the time, this night would haunt the family of two for the rest of their days, because it laid insidious seeds of self-hate in a child which would never be conquered or healed.

Neither of them spoke of that night ever again, and in the following weeks Mieczyslaw was truly quick and admiringly systematic in his planning and execution of the creation of 'Stiles', a comic nickname derived from his surname 'Stilinski', that would, in the coming years, be the title to a persona he had created solely for the comfort of his father.

For an eight year old boy, that was beyond impressive.

And heart-breaking.

And mentally unhealthy

Not that anyone cared.

_**(Don't look like her.**_

She was all soft and sweet. She was warm like the golden sun, a beauty that brought along the feeling of home.

He was scrawny and spastic. He was pale like the cold moon, an awkward and uncomfortable outcast in his own home.

_Don't speak like her._

She was so thoughtful and well spoken. Whenever she opened her mouth, others listened, entranced and impressed.

He was always talking without saying anything. Whenever he opened his mouth, other's begged him to shut up.

_Don't act like her._

She was graceful and helpful. Her smile could light up even the darkest of days, and she always tried her best to make household chores fun for everyone involved.

He was clumsy and a disaster waiting to happen. His presence annoyed even his own father, and he learned early on how to manage a household on his own without bothering his remaining parent.

_Don't have her quirks._

She would always tug at her hair when she was trying to get a point across. She would hug her friends and family randomly, simply to make them happy.

He would move his hands around like a crazy person when he talked. He didn't dislike physical contact, but he had learned better than to show that too much – no one wanted to touch someone like him.

_Don't try to be anything that you aren't._

She was perfect in every way. Everyone spoke of her with such adoration.

He was her only mistake. Everyone compared him to her, and he had always been found lacking.

_Don't bother me with your existence._

Sometimes, Mieczy- … Stiles looked in the mirror. He looked at his pale, thin frame, at his buzz cut and the fading scars hidden under fresh wounds that riddled his arms and legs.

And he …

He asked himself why.

Why did he even bother?)

**For the first time in his life, Stiles Stilinski succeeded beyond anyone's expectations.**

He killed Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

**And the only one who would have cried was buried in the cold ground.**

_**~ The End. ~**_


End file.
